


Raise a glass to freedom, something they can never take away

by Splatx



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Body Modification, Child Abuse, Dark, Dutch gets that kick in his ass he needs, Family, Family Feels, Hosea is a good dad, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Susan is a good mom, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, The gang is a good family(tm), This physically cannot happen, Van der linde gang feels, not anatomically possible, when they have to be at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx
Summary: “Dutch, jesus, Dutch! Come here!”and if Dutch never heard such horror in Hosea’s voice again, it would be too soon.He half expected to find a barn full of hanging corpses, of slaves packed wall to wall, or something akin. And maybe he’d have preferred it - and if that made him a monster, then monster he’d happily be - when he approached, lifted his lantern and saw the state the boy - no, girl? - that stared back at them was in.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. something as small as the flutter of a butterfly's wings...

“Dutch, jesus, Dutch! Get in here!”

and if Dutch never heard such horror in Hosea’s voice again, it would be too soon.

He half expected to find a barn full of hanging corpses, of slaves packed wall to wall, or something akin. And maybe he’d have preferred it - and if that made him a monster, then monster he’d gladly be - when he approached, lifted his lantern and saw the state the boy - no, girl? - that stared back at them was in.

  
  


They hadn’t even intended to look in the barn.

Hadn’t even known it was _there,_ would’ve ridden clear passed if it weren’t for Silver Dollar stumbling on a gopher hole and casting the light of Hosea’s lantern on the building.

It had been a beautiful building, the sort of ranch house what had been there for generations, the sort where the inhabitants wouldn’t mind Dutch and Hosea slipping inside and helping themselves. The gang needed money and the people had far more than they could ever need, so they’d slipped in under the cover of night and filled every bag they’d brought with them within the hour.

It had been, they’d realize on the ride back, empty, even for that sort of house. Devoid of any sort of personal touch, no sign of a wife or children though it was the sort of house that was always owned by someone with a whole litter to ‘carry on their name’, countless paintings and meaningless photographs but not a single photograph of a _person._

A museum, barely a house, not a home.

  
  


Hosea had been the one to go into the barn, and Dutch had taken guard. They’d been intending on ‘just riding by’ (you’d be surprised what you could get away with if you acted like you belonged) and, so, had lit their lanterns as they trotted passed, only for Silver Dollar to nearly break a leg on a gopher hole, Hosea’s flailing flinging his lantern this way and that, and the light had only just touched on the wall of the barn.

Their satchels were full, and they’d be well-set for quite a while. But there was no harm in slipping in and out - the gang could always use a spare horse, and they could do with selling off one or two if there were any in there; Clay never gave them a fair price, but the sort of horse this type of place would have would still give them a decent cut, so Hosea had gone inside, leaving Dutch outside, only to start hollering not even five minutes later.

  
  


The barn was… different, was his first impression, most of the stalls torn down aside from a small one in the corner, cast in shadow. There were hay bales near the door, and a bathtub up against the wall - and it didn’t smell of decomposition; definitely strange, but not worthy of such alarm, but all the same he’d approached Hosea warily, gun at the ready even as he lifted his lantern to see what, exactly, had his friend’s face so drawn and pale.


	2. save fellers as need saving, kill fellers as need killing, and feed fellers as need feeding

It’s a kid.

At least, he thinks it is. It - her? his? they’re still largely in the shadows, curled in on them-self, and he can’t quite tell - _their_ hair is long and tangled, hiding their eyes, but he can just make out the wide eyes of someone young, even wider with alarm and he can easily imagine, if they were to be fed up, a kid's heavy roundness to their face.

As it stood, though, his stomach churns at the way their skin clung to their face. Even from a distance, he could make out the hollows of their cheeks, the dips of their temples, and prays that it’s not as bad as it looks, that the shadows are making it look worse. _‘Christ, please.’_

They’re curled up, curled in on them-self, legs tucked against their chest fearfully, and he can barely make out Hosea muttering soothingly beside him, trying to get them to approach, but they’re steadfast in their refusal to move, huddling to the wall though it were an island and the hay beneath them an ocean, the pair naught more than sharks out to feast.

  
  


They’re misshapen, he realizes when Hosea’s swaying lantern casts just that bit more light on them than before. Can they even stand? “Hosea,” he mutters and they flinch, those strange legs unfolding to scrabble in the hay, scraping loudly even as Dutch hushes and Hosea mutters soothingly, as though they’re talking to some feral horse and not to a feral kid.

They’re pulling on all their experience with Arthur and John and all the others, and coming up horribly wanting.

  
  


They weren’t reaching the kid. They seemed only more and more panicked, scurrying out of the light and huddling against the wall as though trying to become one with it, beginning to make whimpering, gasping sounds that tore at their hearts.

So, though they knew it would at least, at first, make it worse, they opened the stall door and stepped inside. The hay was surprisingly plush beneath their feet, muffling their footsteps and leaving them feeling as if they were wading through a marsh, and with each lurching step the kid flinched as if expecting a blow.

And Dutch damn well wanted to hit something when Hosea’s lamplight finally cast enough light on the kid that they could _see_ them.

  
  


Their hands were bound behind them, shoulders looking painful in the way they were hunched, ropes twining up and down in a needlessly intricate display, vanishing into a curved tube that kept them held pretty. And _shit,_ they were gagged, how hadn’t he seen it before? a bridle not unlike a horse’s but seeming to have been made to fit them fastened to their face, holding their mouth shut and - his stomach churned, he saw red - a pair of elk’s horns sprouted up from the top like it were some child’s costume.

From the stream of rather inventive curses behind him, Hosea had seen it, too.

“Easy, easy,” he soothed, barely able to hear Hosea doing the same over the pounding of his heart in his ears, but he could hear the jangling of chains clear as day, and - there they were, attached to the tube that held their arms crossed behind them, to the ring of the bit, leading off somewhere into the shadows, but more glinted in the light of their lanterns and when his eyes followed it - 

his mind couldn’t process it and he thought, for a moment, their legs had been grievously broken. Left untreated long enough as to turn gangrenous, because how else could their legs be so discolored, so twisted? But then he caught the seam just beneath their knee at the same time as Hosea did from the sound of the _“jesus!”_ behind him, and _jesus_ indeed they were looking at some sort of elk-leg _boot,_ down to the goddamn hooves.

  
  


“Easy,” Hosea muttered, putting the lantern down so he could see without having to wave it around, setting his gun aside in a purposeful gesture. The kid’s breathing was picking up, each breath hitching, and from the looks of their dingy shirt they were hurting or, at least, had been hurting, pretty bad.

“I just want to get those chains off of you, alright kiddo?” he hummed, looking over to Dutch and making a ‘give me’ motion that took him a moment to parse, then _oh_ and he passed over his lock breaker, reaching for the boot and shuddering at the feel of it, it felt like real fur, like any other elk’s leg and

“Shit, Hosea!”

like a panicked horse, the kid kicked him in the chest with hooves that were hard and strong as an elk’s, dropping him, wheezing, into the hay. Hosea was anything if stubborn, though, and had one hell of a bleeding heart even if he’d never admit it, so he shook off Dutch’s hands and stood again, approaching the kid much more slowly.

Their eyes were even wider, if that were even possible, big and blue behind wild brown hair, and their breath escaped them in tiny, rapid whimpers. “It’s fine, kiddo,” well no, it wasn’t, he was pretty sure they’d cracked a rib, “I just want to help you, I want to get that chain off your leg, alright?”

“Hosea…” Dutch cautioned, but Hosea didn’t wait, choreographing his movements as he stretched forward, grabbing the kid’s leg and pulling it into his lap.

If the kid kicked again, Dutch thought, it wouldn’t be his ribs that took the blow.

But the kid seemed to have worn themselves out with that kick, slumping against the wall though even still they rattled and shook like a leaf in a winter gale, staring unblinkingly at Hosea, then him, then back at Hosea as he fumbled with the lock on the chain.

In only a few moments Hosea had the chain dropping to the ground, and the look of utter shock on the kid’s face made it all worth it.

And the kid didn’t struggle at all as he unchained their other ankle, giving them hope.

  
  


“There,” Hosea murmured, “that’s better, isn’t it?” and the kid stared at him as though trying to figure out the answer to a very complicated question, finally giving a stuttering nod. “My friend here, his name is Dutch, I’m Hosea, is going to get that off your head while I work on your arms, is that okay with you?”

The kid froze, staring at him with that look again, like he was asking some terribly hard question and the kid was trying to figure out the answer, before lowering their head, offering it to Dutch and that seemed to be the best answer they’d get so Dutch moved to kneel in front of them as Hosea pulled out his knife and went to work trying to loosen the countless knots in the ropes that bound their arms.

“Easy, I’ve got you,” Dutch muttered, frowning when they flinched at the first touch of his hand on their head, sliding his hand down along their jawline to coax their head up so he could access the leather of the bridle, finding that it dug into their flesh.

He, finally, had to draw his knife, soothing the poor kid when they saw it, and spent more time than he was comfortable with sawing through the leather - say what you will, but the damn thing was very well made. He could hear time ticking by in his head, every heartbeat another moment the people who lived in the house could be riding up the road, ready to discover them freeing the kid.

The kid audibly sighed their relief when he finally managed to cut enough of the bridle that he could start to peel it off, working it over their head, murmuring his apologies when the kid winced and flinched and cowered, hesitating before tugging to coax it out of their mouth.

It was a goddamned _horse bit,_ not modified at all. Exactly the same as they’d use for The Count or Silver Dollar - if it weren’t attached to a human-shaped bridle, they’d have been able to shove it in one of their mouths and go. The kid’s tongue darted out to lick painful-looking lips and Dutch was quick to offer them a sip of water from his canteen, carefully tilting it to keep from drowning the poor kid, after throwing the bridle (and christ but it was _heavy,_ those had to be real elk antlers) as far away as he could.

“Slowly, Dutch,” Hosea griped, grunting as he managed to cut through one of the ropes, “Don’t know how long it’s been since they’ve had something to drink, don’t want to make them sick.” and Dutch had done a lot of horrible things in his life, but he felt like a true monster at the sound the kid made when he pulled the canteen away, trying to follow only to be pulled back by the chains attached to the bindings on their arms.

  
  


“Finally,” Hosea hissed, allowing the ropes to drop to the ground, reaching for the tube that kept their arms in place before hesitating, “Dutch, I don’t know if I should take this off.”

“Don’t know - Hosea, dammit, why the hell not?!” Dutch snarled, the kid cowering, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and rein in his temper, barely catching Hosea’s hissed,

“Dutch, I don’t know what the hell might be in there, what if I make it _worse?”_ and… oh, that was a valid concern, he hadn’t even put a moments’ thought as to what the kid’s arms might look like, having been in the tube for who knows how long or, his stomach churned, looking at the awkwardly shaped elk leg boots, their _legs,_ their _feet._

  
  


“Here, kid, can you get up?” Dutch stood, letting Hosea get to his feet on his own time - as much as Hosea refused to admit it, he was getting up there and their sort of life wasn’t conducive to easy aging, and it would take him a moment to get off the ground after so much time spent on it; after the kid slipped, moving to brace their shoulder against the wall he took pity on them, grabbed them by the elbow just above the tube and tugged them to their feet.

“Dutch,” Hosea said once he was on his feet, the other man having taken a moment to water the kid, “put him on Silver Dollar, alright?”

What they were going to _do_ with the kid, well, they didn’t know. But Dutch had a motto - save fellers as need saving, kill fellers as need killing, and feed fellers as need feeding. And this kid needed saving, and needed feeding, and so that's what they'd do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boots look like [this elk's](https://i.postimg.cc/HnKzzst0/REINDEERBONEINLEGROAST5-TO6-LB-2.jpg) furthest left (for us) leg


End file.
